Darkness Follows
by Peter M Dodge
Summary: The trials of Roland, abiter of Tyr's Justice. Please R
1. Prologue

**Darkness Follows**  
_By Peter Dodge_  
  
This piece inspired by the work of Scott Buckley. Especially the track of similar name - Darkness Follows Him. Do yourself a favour and listen to it while reading :)  
  
_Disclaimer: Random bits filled in by my own vivid imagination. I claim no responsibility for the havoc my imagination wreaks. Also, if your skiddish about gothic horror or violence, then I suggest you find another story. This probably isn't the one for you._  
  
This one's a bit (okay, who am I kidding, quite a bit) short, but I need a little time to warm up. That and I think I'll merge it with what I have for chapter one to make it a little bigger. Stay tuned.  
  


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**Prologue**  
Roland stood upon the field. Bodies were heaped in massive piles, like so much firewood. Where before two armies, one of good, and one of evil, clashed, now there was nothing but bloodstained grass and broken corpses. Such was the path that Roland left behind him, not by choice, but by fate...  
  
The battle had been short, and brutal. The sides were almost evenly matched. Warriors of the Lord of Justice arrayed in all their splendour, gleaming white platemail armour and swords at the ready stood on one side. On the other, a gibbering host of demons, and malevolent humanoids of all types, with cruel pikes and axes. Leading the army of good, Roland had fought with the best of them. His faith that victory would come was unwavering. Faith was never a difficult thing for Roland.  
  
The rage and hatred in the faces of their evil enemies was unmistakable. Where the army that stood with him was one of good, it was clear those that stood before him was one of pure, unadulterated evil. Every iota of their being exuded malice. They were an army with one mind, one sole purpose. And that was to destroy Roland.  
  
Roland never fully understood what drove the armies of evil to him. He knew he battled with his own malevolent nature, but he had no special powers, nor any significance other than being a rather outspoken voice of Justice in the realm. No amount of good on his part could have driven the army in the way that it was. None at all. Thus, the mystery remained.  
  
One thing was for certain. With the first shout of rage that signalled their hell march; they fought with the fury only spawned by the hells themselves. Roland had fought tenacious enemies before, but they far excelled what he had. He could not fathom the depths of rage.  
  
His warriors battled the enemy with all the courage and skill that could have been expected of them, more in some cases. Their final battle brought honour to their names. Their swords cleaved a passage through the enemy, until finally the enemy was broken. Flashes of steel and iron, and lines of red were all that can be discerned in the blur of motion, but they were only a taste of the battle that was taking place.  
  
Their demonic enemy fought with tooth and claw, continuing through blows that would fell a mortal man almost two times over with not even a flinch. But that did not faze the knights that stood with Roland. They too continued, harbouring grievous wounds of their own. Many died of blood loss before the battle was even finished.  
  
In the centre of the engagement was Roland, his golden armour stained red with both his own blood and the blood of a hundred felled fiends. Yet, even with such a number felled, so many remained. They clamoured to battle, climbing over the bodies of their dead and dying kin without a thought. All that mattered to them was the consuming urge to destroy. And destroy they did, as the entire feild was covered in the bodies of the dead and dying. Muffled moans and cries could be heard amid the clamour of combat.  
  
Roland wielded his silver sword expertly. It danced from foe to foe in a deadly dance, leaving broken and battered carcasses in its wake. Roland was all too familiar with the ways of war. It had been the path laid before him, for better or for worse, and he accepted this fate. Still, it weighed heavily on Roland's soul and conscience, he could not escape the thought of their deaths being of his doing. Thus, he fought valiiantly, as if to redeem himself for their deaths.  
  
And it was this path that had lead him to another scene of carnage. Many of his battle-brothers lay dead in the field below. As did many score of his enemy. Yet, he could not wonder if, in the end, a battle so costly bought was worth the price he had paid. He had seen a thousand battles, and yet in every one, looking on to the battlefield, he could not help but feel loss wrench at his heart. He would not be human if he did not feel the stinging tinge of emptiness that was loss. It was as if he head paid for the victory on the battlefeild with a portion, however small, of his own soul.  
  
As he looked out upon the battlefield, Roland's thoughts wandered. He felt like he was drifting off in all directions. 


	2. Chapter One

**Darkness Follows**  
_by Peter Dodge_

_Disclaimer:_ I posted it in the prologue and I will again here. If you're not a fan of violence or horror or things like that, then I reccommend that you look for another story. 

_This is a work in progress. The last update was uploaded Sept 9/03._

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**Chapter One**  
It was a dark night when first the icy words of the maiden's song was heard. The earth itself seemed to be tormented by the message. The air seemed to recoil at the words. 

"Every day I will watch as my vengance unfold. Every night the earth will lament that I hath told. For darkness will rise out of the hell's deep. And in the cold of the night, seal the sleep. Of my the theif of my husband's life." 

The steely fury belonged to that of Nawen, the elven wife of Baron Strathecomb. He had been felled in combat. Since he came back to her in the dark confines of a casket, she had vowed to destroy the one who had slain him. She knew only that fury. It filled her. It drove her. Her entire being was bent on vengaence. Vengaence for her beloved. Only then could he, and she, rest in piece. 


End file.
